


A Rose By Any Other Name

by ThetaSigma



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Angst, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 15:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThetaSigma/pseuds/ThetaSigma
Summary: Following the lack of the End of the World, Aziraphale falls into a depression, sure that he'll never have the chance to find his soulmate now.Crowley's determined to help Aziraphale, even if it means losing him.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 77





	A Rose By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tobeconspicuous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconspicuous/gifts).



> A birthday gift for my dear friend, tobeconspicuous. Happy birthday!!

After the failed Armageddon, Aziraphale falls into a depression. He tries to hide it from Crowley, who is around a lot more nowadays, but he’s pretty sure Crowley sees it, despite the false cheer. He doesn’t want to discuss it, so he keeps pretending everything is fine and Crowley follows his lead on this. Aziraphale assumes -- incorrectly -- that Crowley will either figure it out or not care.

Aziraphale knows exactly why he’s depressed. He doesn’t miss Heaven at all, he’s glad not to have another assignment, he’s absolutely delighted the Earth is fine and will stay that way. It’s just that never being allowed back into Heaven means he will never interact with angels again, unless they come down to Earth. 

And it’s not that he  _ misses _ most of the angels -- he’ll be perfectly happy if his and Gabriel’s paths never cross again. Nor will he miss Michael, Uriel, or Sandalphon, obviously. But never going back means he’ll never find his soulmate now.

He tries to console himself with the thought that if he hadn’t located his soulmate in the eons before he was stationed on Earth, he wasn’t likely to now. But he wants the connection. Apparently, it’s like nothing else: perfectly on the same wavelength, the love heightened, the bond stronger than anything else.

The soulmate system was absurdly simple. He had his soulmate’s name tattooed on him. He just had to  _ find the damn angel. _

Aziraphale knows it’s an angel. Angels and demons have such different names, after all. He also doubts God would throw the demons out and then allow them to have such a connection with an angel. 

Also, he’s heard  _ of _ this angel. He just can’t  _ find _ them.

Aziraphale looks over at Crowley, who is napping on the bookshop couch. A familiar wave of fondness sweeps through him. Crowley is so unguarded and vulnerable like this, making little snuffling noises as he snoozes, not quite a snore but not just a breath. His jaw is slack, his glasses are off, his limbs aren’t arranged in an artful attempt to make him look cool and casual but draped wherever comfortable. Aziraphale sometimes wonders if the comfort of sleep makes Crowley shapeshift back into a snake or if that part of his brain is still on guard if Crowley isn’t in his own flat.

Aziraphale wishes that Crowley  _ would _ shapeshift. He’s seen Crowley’s snake form a few times since Eden, but he wants to see it more. Crowley is, predictably, as stunning as a snake as he is in human-shape. 

Aziraphale sneaks a surreptitious glance at the tattoo on his side, twisting to read it. He wishes, fiercely, that it will change one day and read  _ Crowley _ instead of the angelic name that is present there now. He can’t imagine having that kind of connection with anyone  _ but _ Crowley. Some days it feels like they already have that and it makes him wonder how much more intense the soulmate connection could be. 

But the name on his side still isn’t Crowley. 

He wonders what name Crowley has tattooed on him, if any. He must have one, Aziraphale reasons. After all, Crowley was an angel once, and even before the War, they had tattoos. He’s pretty sure he’d remember if some angels didn’t have them.

It’d be a demon, of course. Aziraphale wonders which of the many many demons he’d seen during Crowley’s trial was his soulmate. Does Crowley know them? Did they have that connection before Crowley defected? Do demons even follow the soulmate system, or did they reject it when they Fell? Did the tattoo get burnt off as they Fell, and Crowley really doesn’t have one?

Aziraphale knows he could have checked when he and Crowley switched faces, but that would have been an invasion of privacy, so he didn’t. Anyway, knowing what’s written on Crowley’s hip won’t make any difference now. It won’t solve his issue.

***

Crowley isn’t an idiot. He knows Aziraphale’s been in a funk since the failed apocalypse, and he really wishes he knew  _ why. _

He’s pretty sure he does. Aziraphale can’t set foot in Heaven again, not without another execution attempt. Crowley figures Aziraphale misses it terribly and is trying to think of a way to go back. 

Crowley spends a lot of time at the bookstore lately. He isn’t trying to keep Aziraphale here if he decides to try his luck going back -- if nothing else, Aziraphale is the most stubborn being he’s ever met. But Crowley thinks that if he’s around basically all of the time, at least Aziraphale can’t slip away without even saying goodbye.

It’s probably desperation. He knows that. He knows that Aziraphale could blink away while his back is turned or he’s taking a nap or he’s stepped out to grab them coffee and pastries. 

But desperation is about the only thing Crowley has left. He’s not exactly got much hope anymore. 

He did have right after Armageddon failed. He had hope that he and Aziraphale might  _ finally _ be able to be… well, them, but without their respective sides watching closely. Or at all. But then Aziraphale had… well, there’s no use beating about the bush. He’s been depressed, and Crowley didn’t want to have that kind of conversation while Aziraphale is grappling with something big.

So he stays in the bookshop as much as he can get away and hopes Aziraphale doesn’t leave without saying goodbye. Surely after 6000 years he deserves that much at least.

***

Once upon a time -- specifically, up until about the fall of the Roman empire -- Crowley had enjoyed putting his clothes on the human way. No snap of his fingers and done, not back then, he enjoyed the ritual of dressing and undressing. The care needed to make the clothes fit right and look good. He liked looking down at his body, too, in whatever gender he’d assumed then. 

Crowley quite likes his body, really. It’s long and lanky and angular, enough muscle to look good in almost any time period (as a male) and just enough of a curve to look good in almost any time period (as a female). He knows how to move in any gender to tempt the people around him.

Not long after they have oysters, Crowley stops dressing the human way. He doesn’t take his clothes off properly anymore. He snaps a new outfit on when he’s ready for a change and does his damn best to never need to be naked. Even when he has sex, he tries to keep his shirt on. This is definitely made easier by the fact that most of the time, sex is a result of a temptation, and he can work in a fast, quick, semi-public aspect to it. 

He still likes his body just fine.

It’s his fucking soulmate tattoo he’s coming to loathe. He doesn’t want to see it anymore, not after over 4000 years of rejection. He doesn’t like it when others see it, either. Leads to all sorts of awkward questions during sex, many which he would rather not answer or think about or deal with.

Crowley had hope long ago that it would work out. After all, it’s fated, isn’t it? That’s what the whole point was. But year after year, century after century of two steps forward, three steps back has worn him out.

So he doesn’t look at the tattoo anymore. Out of sight, out of mind, and maybe one day he can look again and see the  _ Aziraphale _ on his hip without bitterness, but that day isn’t today.

Crowley sometimes wonders if Aziraphale has something else written on his hip. Demons don’t talk about soulmates, so he doesn’t know what the story is with anyone else’s tattoo. To be absolutely honest, Crowley isn’t even sure if all demons  _ have _ one. But Crowley has thought, more and more, that maybe demons have a name and that being doesn’t have theirs. Just another reminder demons aren’t worthy of love.

He knows he could have just checked when he wore Aziraphale’s face, but that seemed wrong. If Aziraphale wanted him to know, he would have said. So Crowley didn’t look.

  
  


And he doesn’t ask now for the same reason. If Aziraphale wants him to know, or wants them to talk about it, he will. 

***

This pattern goes on for a few months. Aziraphale gets quieter and quieter, more and more withdrawn. He’s not even faking cheer now.

Crowley decides he has absolutely nothing to lose. Mainly because it appears that whatever is going on, he’s lost Aziraphale. Oh, sure, Aziraphale is right there, physically anyway, but at this point, they’re barely having any kind of conversation at all. 

Aziraphale’s staring blankly into his tumbler, contemplating the scotch, when Crowley says something. “Angel,” he says hesitantly. 

Aziraphale looks at him. “Yes, Crowley?” he asks, sounding dejected. Of course, he always sounds dejected lately.

“Ah, that is… Look. I think we both know something’s wrong. Can’t you tell me what it is? Maybe I could help.”

“It’s nothing, my dear.”

Crowley scoffs. “That’s a lie. You’re moping more than a… a… moped.”

Aziraphale frowns in thought. “I don’t think mopeds mope.”

“They should, they’ve got mope right in the name. No, wait, no, that wasn’t the point. You’re all… sad.”

“It’s… oh, well, it’s about Heaven.”

Crowley isn’t sure what to say. He doubts it will be well received if he says that Heaven isn’t all that great, actually, but he also doesn’t want to talk Aziraphale into going  _ back _ to Heaven. “What about it?” he manages.

“It’s not… I don’t miss it, I do want to stress that. I felt so free at first. No Gabriel looking over my shoulder all the time, no need to worry about who was watching me do what, it was really quite relaxing. A relief.”

“Is it the assignments?” Crowley guesses. Maybe Aziraphale’s just feeling like he’s lost his purpose.

“Oh, gosh, no. No, not at all. Half the time I wondered if maybe I’d accidentally intercepted a request from Hell, not from Heaven. I hardly mean to question the Almighty, of course…”

“More my thing,” Crowley says with a slight smile. Aziraphale returns it, and it’s the first happy-adjacent emotion he’s displayed in almost half a year.

“But I did sometimes wonder if the Almighty was behind these assignments at all,” Aziraphale continues. “They did seem to be less, ah, directly beneficial than they had been in the past.”

“Yeah, I thought that too,” Crowley mutters. “Didn’t seem like there was all that much difference between your assignments and mine since, oh, 1912.”

“Precisely. And anyway, now that I’m a free agent, I can bless whoever I want. It’s quite intoxicating. I’ve taken to just blessing people at random. Nothing major, I hardly want to bring Heaven’s attention to me right just now, but I’ve become very fond of making sure people find some money they needed or got good news or just had a lovely day. Instead of having to carefully dole it out to avoid a rude memo or a negative performance review.”

“Then what about Heaven? Have they been harassing you?”

“No, no! Radio silence, as they say.”

“Angel.”

“It’s about that soulmate thing,” Aziraphale admits. “I had… well, I know I spent less and less time in Heaven, but I had hoped to eventually  _ find _ mine. But now I can’t go back, and I suppose I’m just… a bit dejected, I think you could say, that I may never find mine.”

Crowley frowns. Could Aziraphale’s soulmate actually be an angel? Maybe his theory about demons and soulmates had been right. 

Aziraphale perks up slightly. “Actually, my dear, if we are talking about this, I do have a question.”

“Fire away,” Crowley says immediately.

“Well, I  _ have _ wondered, do demons have soulmates?”

Crowley stammers for a moment, trying to find the right words. “Well… Here’s the thing, angel. I have a soulmate tattoo, but I don’t know if the others do. Demons don’t exactly discuss soulmates. S’about love, innit? We don’t talk about that. I don’t know if I’m unusual in having one or if all of us do. I don’t even know if the name on my hip matches anyone. Maybe that person has someone else’s name on  _ their _ hip. Because, well, demon.” He shrugs.

“This might be  _ very _ forward of me, of course, and do tell me if it is, but can I ask whose name you have? If you… well, if you don’t mind, of course, there’s hardly any obligation to.”

Crowley hesitates. It’s risky, he knows that, but it sounds like he’s about to prove one of his theories conclusively right. He swallows and nods. “Ngk. Probably, uh, probably better if I just show you,” he croaks. 

He stands up and pulls his shirt up slightly and his waistband down under the tattoo.

Aziraphale stares at it for a moment, then looks into Crowley’s eyes. He looks deeply and profoundly sad. “Oh. Oh, Crowley,” he whispers. “Mine… it doesn’t match. It doesn’t say you.” 

Crowley straightens his clothes and tries not to look like his world is ending. “Ngk. Figured that, really,” he says, aiming for confident bravado and falling very short. “Seems about right that demons don’t have soulmates.”

“I wish it were you,” Aziraphale says in a low voice. “I can’t imagine anyone being a better fit than you are.”

Crowley gives him a small, sad smile. “But there is someone out there who will be. Someone who actually understands love.”

Aziraphale looks very angry at that. “Now, I know I am partly to blame for you thinking that, but really, you understand it a lot better than most angels.”

Crowley waves that off. “Never mind. Let’s figure out how to… how to find your… uh, your soulmate.” He meant to say that smoothly, but had quite a bit of trouble getting the sentence out. “Who is it?”

“I don’t even know how I’d find him, really,” Aziraphale says. “It’s been eons, and I’ve never even  _ heard _ of this angel’s whereabouts. Heard of him, but any time I ask, I’m given the runaround. Here, I’ll show you.” He fussily takes off his jacket and waistcoat before pulling his shirt up enough that Crowley can see the name.

Crowley  _ stares. _ His jaw drops, more than a human’s could, and he makes a series of unintelligible sounds. 

“Do you know him? Do you know how to find him?” Aziraphale asks.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley whispers, still staring at the neat script. 

“I mean, I have  _ definitely _ heard of the Archangel Raphael, of course, but none of the other archangels will talk about him. And, I know it’s ineffable, of course, but I’m a Principality. My soulmate is an  _ archangel? _ And a missing one! No one, well, maybe below the other archangels, has seen or heard from him for millennia.”

“He… He Fell,” Crowley manages to say. “During the War. Raphael --  _ I _ \-- Fell.”

Aziraphale frowns. “You mean…”

Crowley does a mock bow. “The Former Archangel Raphael, at your service. Better known as the Demon Crowley.”

“But that means… that means it’s  _ you. _ It’s always  _ been _ you.” Aziraphale looks very sad again.

“Is… is that not good?” Crowley asks. He wants to crawl into a dark corner and die.

“All the time I wasted,” Aziraphale mutters. “All that time.”

“I think… I think we needed to go slow,” Crowley says slowly, testing the words. “I think this would not have worked if we discovered it earlier. For the first several thousand years, you would have thought it was a trick or a wile you were meant to thwart.”

“As much as I want to argue that, I think there might be truth there,” Aziraphale sighs. He beams. “At least, though, I  _ have _ found you. I mean…”

“I know what you mean, angel.”

“Why, my dearest, it’s like a weight being lifted off of my shoulders. I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want to go to Heaven again, and that it’s  _ you… _ well. I have wished, for a very long time now, that one day the name  _ would _ change to yours. But you’ve known all this time. Why didn’t you say something?”

Crowley arches an eyebrow. “Really, angel? ‘I don’t even like you’ ‘you go too fast for me’ ‘we’re not friends’... sound familiar?”

Aziraphale wrings his hands. “Oh. Oh, no. Oh,  _ Crowley. _ I was… well, I was simply awful to you. My darling,  _ my love, _ I do indeed like you -- I would say I do indeed  _ love _ you, I believe we have finally reached the same speed, and we are, we  _ are, _ friends. Always.” He grabs Crowley’s hands and holds them gently. “I am so, so very sorry, Crowley.”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do I wouldn’t forgive,” Crowley says. “Not a single thing.”

Aziraphale looks ready to pursue that train of thought further, but Crowley cuts him off. “Angel, does it matter how we got here?” 

“I suppose not. And I suppose there will be plenty of time for us to forgive old wounds.”

“I’m more for ignoring them.”

“And yet, I think I would like to apologise for them as they occur to me, darling. Would you humor me on this?”

Crowley chuckles. “You got me, angel. Whatever you want.”

“Excellent! And if that is the case, what I  _ want _ is to finally, finally touch my soulmate.”

A smile spreads slowly across Crowley’s face. Not his half-smile or a smirk or a minor lifting of his lips, but a proper grin. “Don’t let me stop you,” he says.

Aziraphale kisses his smile, tastes his laughter, and realises that he was absolutely right. No soulmate connection could be better than the one he has with Crowley. He’d share this thought, but kissing is a much, much better use of his mouth right this moment. Anyway, he’s pretty sure Crowley knows.

Just in case, though, he’ll mention it soon. Once he has his mouth back. Eventually.


End file.
